Stamford
by tediouslydull
Summary: Stamford's death causes a significant dispute.


"Stamford's had a heart attack," John sighed as he looked from the text message he just had received. Sherlock was lying on the couch. "It was bound to happen," he replied dryly, though frankly, he was a bit shocked that it didn't happen earlier. John gaped at his flat mate, supposedly best friend and wondered yet again just how he was able to put up with such an inconsiderate man. "Sherlock, shut up, it was severe. He's dead." John watched Sherlock shift slightly uncomfortably on the couch. "Oh… Would have expected he'd get some warnings," said Sherlock, not knowing whether he should try to comfort his friend. John started looking at his phone again. "Molly's asking if we want to go see him with her." "What would be the point in that, John," Sherlock sighed. Really, the couch was more alluring. John raised his eyebrows. "I don't know, maybe, showing a bit of humanity out there. Oh, leave it, you really don't give a shit about him, do you? Well, he cared for you, or at least a bit, which is more than most people." "He was tolerable," Sherlock replied, now focusing on the crack in the ceiling. "You're not going then? Well, I am." John went to get his coat. When he was back in the doorway he just stared at Sherlock. "You know, he went to your funeral," John finally said. "Funeral, yes, not to see my corps." Sherlock replied before muttering "You didn't went to see MY corpse". John rolled his eyes. "Of course not, I was in shock and I could imagine how your corps would look like after that fall. Plus, even if I had wanted, I wouldn't have been allowed now, would I? Because there was no bloody corps. I'm off, Sherlock, enjoy your afternoon." "I will," Sherlock muttered, more to himself as John had already run down the stairs.

After two hours, John darted back into the flat. He sighed deeply as he saw Sherlock lying on the couch, not having moved as much as an inch. He went to his chair and sat down for five minutes, stroking his fingers on the sides until he couldn't take the silence anymore. "So been doing very memorable things I can tell. How was your visit to Stamford, John? Oh, well, the usual, accept now he was just lying there, pale and silent and dead. Sherlock inhaled. "You're upset," he said. "Of course I'm bloody upset, you… you! You know I even made an excuse to Molly, for you not being there, because practically whole St Bart's was there. Said you were sick. And I guess that's true to some extent, but I don't think I could help you with that. I'm not that kind of doctor. And to be perfectly frank, in my opinion consulting one would be like throwing good money after bad." Sherlock was gazing at him, still lying on the couch with his head tipped sideways. "Jesus, Sherlock, do we really mean nothing to you?" "Just because I decided not to go and have a look at his decomposing body, doesn't mean I don't care," Sherlock replied. "Of course it does. It means exactly that. You're not making up any excuses now only to make me feel better. I may not know what goes on in that head of yours, but I know HOW you think." Sherlock turned his head towards the ceiling and huffed irritably. "Stamford has played a key role in my life," he whispered.

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Whoa? Don't exaggerate, Sherlock. I knew him better than you did. You're pissing me off here," he lashed out. "Oh, I mean it, John", Sherlock continued. "You know, you've never asked me why I needed a flat mate. Not for sharing the rent of course, really, you should have realized. I can get by just fine. But just a month before you came in and joined the picture, I accidently overdosed. Mycroft was a bit angry that I would put my life on the line and not use my brain capacity for his purposes, so he insisted that I should look out for a proper roommate. One that wouldn't be keen on drugs and keep an eye on me." John actually had never even considered Sherlock needed a roommate for that reason.

"You accidently overdosed. You?" John insisted. "Well, ok, not quite, I was sick of being bored, John." John snorted at that. Sherlock sighed. "No, of course, you can't imagine just how depressing that is. I'm happy for you." Sherlock sat up and pointed his fingertips on his lips, figuring if he would tell John more, because he could react badly to the information in question. He decided he had to."So I figured Stamford could help me out. I know he loved chatting. Eventually he would mention it talking to the right person, one in search of a proper affordable flat. Most likely that man would be a doctor too. Great asset for my investigation work as well." Sherlock gazed at John, hoping he wouldn't have gone to far. He knew John didn't like to feel manipulated without actually knowing it. When he saw John rubbing the bridge of his nose he looked a bit struck down. Not a good sign. "John?" "You really are too analytical." "Well, of course I thought it through," Sherlock replied, wondering why John suddenly focused on his thinking method. "No I mean, I can see you speaking to him, acting all nice and friendly." John looked at him and Sherlock saw his eyes sparkle with anger. "But that's just it, you act, and we all take it! You're just are nice when you want something." Well, Sherlock didn't know what to say, because it was true to some extent. Should he feel awful now? He didn't. John continued speaking rapidly, almost spitting his words at Sherlock. "I could just drop dead tomorrow and the only thing that would upset you is that you can't text me asking to bring home some milk. If you haven't deleted the fact that I actually existed that is, since you delete everything that seems useless and mundane." Sherlock's chest hurt. "No," he said. "Ah, leave it," John stood up and wanted to head for the kitchen. Sherlock hold his breath. "I'll always remember Stamford." John stopped to listen. "He brought me you. He really did a magnificent job there. Couldn't have found a better flat mate. John, please, do sit down." John was looking a bit uncertain, but obeyed and watched Sherlock closely as the man started clenching his fists together, a rare sign that indicated that Sherlock didn't know what to do. It made John smile to himself sometimes, if the circumstances weren't dangerous that is. Because it looked as if he wanted to control the situation by grabbing an invisible idea.

"I can't delete everything, as much as I want," Sherlock paused. "Some situations cause me many white nights." "Which ones exactly?," John insisted, because he couldn't believe Sherlock actually felt remorse for some deaths or accidents he couldn't stop or inflicted. "Deaths or injuries I could have avoid by spotting a clue sooner." John's mouth fell open. He had never noticed Sherlock feeling bad after a case and he never assumed he was capable, but looking at his friend right now, he could spot a slight grin that hang on his face while his eyes where constantly moving from the right to the left as if he was picturing every single mistake he had made over the years. John couldn't help feeling a bit disgusted by himself. All this time he had accompanied Sherlock, but he had failed as a friend. Though being able to interact with him as a friend, he still saw him as a human machine. Emotionless. It must be hell, never forgetting and blaming yourself for overseeing things, while normal people wouldn't even get close to the capacity of seeing them to begin with.

"What?" Sherlock snapped, as he recovered from his psychological isolation and noticed that John was staring at him, open-mouthed and eyes a bit softer than before. John startled. "I… You…," he stuttered. "I'm sorry…", continued John as he shook his head. Sherlock slowly nodded. "But in fact, a big part's reserved for the conversations, or rather rows, I had with you," Sherlock pointed towards his temple. "All stored here. Makes for many sleepless nights trying to figure out what I did wrong, how I could avoid them. 'Cause though must admit it is quite fun to get you a bit worked up, it's a whole other thing when you're mad because… Well, because you think I lack humanity." John pursed his lips at this and Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "What?" John asked a bit annoyed. "Well, I don't mean I only store the bad things, John. You purse your lips when I've said something annoying, which happens quite a lot." Sherlock said, pointing at his friend. "And there's a lot more. You smile in a very unique way when my sarcasm has made you laugh. And you're genuine laughter sounds so.. stimulating.. Really high sound for such a short man, though. Your eyes are bright blue when seen in the light, almost grey and dark if not. The thing you do when I'm being supposedly rude to someone, take a loud breathe and clench your teeth I…" I love the most he almost said. But he didn't want to scare John, not yet. The combination of love and Sherlock wasn't still quite accepted in John's mind, he could tell. "I know you do that because you wouldn't want the stranger to get the wrong impression of me. That he would think I am a selfish, arrogant machine." Sherlock dared to move from his couch and approached John.

"Stamford is the source of my happiness, my fulfillment in life right now. I won't forget that." Sherlock kneeled in front of John and took hold of his kneecap. "And if you planning on dying tomorrow, I'd do anything in my power to stop that. If I should fail, my reason to live is no longer there." Sherlock kept looking John in the eyes. "Please don't be upset with me. I really do need some sleep," Sherlock smiled. John was flabbergasted by what Sherlock was saying. These words shouldn't make his stomach feel like it was being turned upside down. "It's fine, Sherlock, I know… I know you." Heat seemed to radiate from Sherlock's hand onto his rump. "I'm just being overemotional. Hadn't expect his death, you know, shouldn't blame it all on you. I know you always mean well." "John?" "Yes, what, Sherlock." Sherlock took his breath. He needed today to be that day. He couldn't stand it anymore, knowing it by hearing it in his voice, by sensing it in his eyes and by seeing it through his actions. It must be tormenting for him too. "You love me," Sherlock whispered slowly. John eyes almost flew out of their sockets at that. Maybe it was too soon, but that didn't matter. "What?" John said, as he tried to free himself from Sherlock's grip, which only tightened. Now's the time, so he wouldn't let go. "You heard me just fine, John. Trying to escape just proves it, but since you apparently don't realize it yourself, I'll just repeat myself. You love me." Sherlock beamed and smiled at John. "Sherlock, you can't just…" John felt nervous and was trying to find a way out. "John, I've been waiting for this day. For someone to be able to care for me. For someone to be able to make me care for them. Please don't be superficial, I know I can't offer what your dates could offer. But than again, what I offer, is far greater in its own way." Sherlock moved in closer on John putting each hands at his side. John looked up to him and Sherlock almost drowned in the black of John's irises. "We are implicit, John. I need you to need me as much as I need you. Not that I would force you. But I figured, something that feels this strong must be reciprocate. You know, chemicals. Moreover I have been studying your reactions to me. But that's not the problem. The problem is that you just can't cope with being in love with a guy."John was quiet for a minute, as was Sherlock, giving him the opportunity to think. Of course John felt it, the aching, but Sherlock was indeed a guy. A brilliant, mad, annoying, rambunctious, hot-looking guy. John never would have thought he could be gay. Sherlock was right, though, he would be a hypocrite if he'd just ignore this persistent feeling. "You'll love me back?" John whispered. "John, keep up, I already do." They kept staring at each other. "You know what I mean. I know you, you get bored quite easily. I don't want to engage in this and then find out that one day, you'll change your mind and leave me." John swallowed. "John, life was boring before you. You made it quite interesting. I can't imagine being bored of you." Sherlock waved dramatically with his hands. "Hmm, compare it with a very interesting case, a Moriarty challenge perhaps, having you by my side is like being on the brink of solving such a case."John laughed. "You are comparing me with –" John broke off as Sherlock moved in closer as to kiss him and John put his palm on Sherlock chest, slightly halting him, still two men stood frozen for about ten seconds. "Can I kiss you?" Sherlock asked his eyes scanning John's, his lips stuck on a silent smile. John was breathing heavily and could only respond after a few seconds."Don't ask, you git," John smiled, as he took hold of Sherlock's collar and dragged his body onto his, putting their lips together and feeling each other happiness flow together as they both bathed in a nauseating bliss.


End file.
